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I like being regular and pronounce it “regler.” If I can get to the keyboard quickly enough, I’ll write out of the holy, terrible, and fantastic regular. I like a little house and a big yard. I whirl from child to sink to garden to spill, but I love to steep in different cultures and countries, too. I love to travel. Most of all, I love to write. I never questioned what I would grow up to be. Learn More About Me »

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Poor and Powerless: My First Time to Speak

I walk up to the edge of a canyon and hear “jump,” and I see with my eyes that I can’t make it across. “Jump!” He says, but I’m held to the ground by fear of a million things. One by one I cut free, naming and turning. Letting go – lighter and lighter. Before I have it in me to be afraid, my feet lift. When I undo from the weight, I’ve gone over the edge, and I fly.

The night I lost my cousin, I went to an All Sons and Daughters concert and sat throbbing during the song “All the Poor and Powerless.” My Jeremiah was gone, and the song said, “Go on and tell it to the masses / That He is God / We will sing out / Hallelujah.” Jude had fallen asleep in my lap, and I soaked his shirt, we in that pew, telling Jesus we would all tell of His great love for us. So much of me had said NO for so long.

It’s been about 10 weeks since, I think, and I’ve stood at the edge uncurling my fingers. Some days I tighten my grip, but other days I am released. When we sang that song, I broke. Then in my processing how to let go of my need to be accepted by others, my friend asked me what I was so afraid of. I know that ministry is hard. It will hurt, and what if no one ministers back to me?

I knew immediately that the LORD Himself would minister to me. He gives endurance, peace, hope, compassion, comfort, and Love. When from God, these things do not go away – even with fire, even in all the pouring out.

Last night was my first time to speak to a large crowd. I sat on a stool and had a podium and a mic. I said it outright that I was totally nervous. I had waves of fear and tall waves of peace. But then when I began to speak, I looked in the eyes of all those beautiful college babies, and I loved them so much. I told them everything hard and wonderful that I knew in the moment, how I didn’t know what I was doing.

I didn’t do a spectacular job, and I know some things to change for next time, but I promise the Holy Spirit used my lack. Some sat with me on the edge of our seats like cliffs at a canyon. Do we plunge? Do we live in darkness or in the light? Do we ride the wings or do we plummet? Either way, we’re going over.

When the band came back up, I sat to worship. In that moment I desperately wanted to hear someone, or everyone, say that I had done well, but then I asked Jesus to minister to me instead.

The one leading the band with the young Sean Hayes voice was up there for his very first time, too. And what song did he lead last, after I asked the Lord to come to me? He played “All the Poor and Powerless,” the song that broke me, the one that sent me out. The crowd was extra big, and they all sang, and I knew that’s all I ever wanted was to hear them sing Hallelujah. The young man prayed at the end, and his voice trembled. We were moved, and it was never me. Never ever.

A girl came to believe last night. I know that the invisible work He calls us to do will last forever. We’re going over. Kingdom Come.

Story-Letter

A Haines Home CompanionThe Monthly Story-Letter

This letter is for friends, family, and fellow-writers and artists who like the quieter ways to engage online. I'll be one part goofy to two parts poetry. I'll share my story with you and hope you'll respond with yours, too.